


Torches

by sixtieshairdo



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Brian could be in love with Sonny, M/M, Sonny's not perfect, Unrequited Love, Will's a brat, more than friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtieshairdo/pseuds/sixtieshairdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian's hung up on Sonny, who is hung up on Will, who isn't ready to commit but doesn't want to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torches

After a while, he _gets_ it. He’s not dense, so he doesn’t miss out on Sonny’s I’ll-be-your-friend-but-I’m-seriously-not-interested-in-you-like- _that_ cues. Fine, so Sonny’s not reciprocating his signals but he knows that the guy just needs time to see around things. It’s clear that Will is far too involved in his messy personal life to want to further complicate matters with something as enormous as a relationship with Sonny. But what annoys him most about this entire situation is the way Will’s behaving as though Sonny is by default _his_ property and, by ridiculous extension, not available for Brian’s undying attention and vested interest.

 

They’re at the music store and he filters through the CDs, his mind wrapped around almond-eyes and the gentle curve of full lashes, when he catches sight of a couple of records that might convey his irrepressible feelings towards a certain barista-cum-entrepreneur-cum-student-cum- _overachiever-in-all-things_ - _clearly_. He beckons Will and Neil over to help him choose, not really giving a damn that Will’s been standoffish on all things Sonny.

 

“Which is better: Foster the People’s _Torches_ or Fun’s _Some Nights_?”

 

Neil scrunches his nose and flits his eyes between both records, undecided, while Will immediately points to _Torches_. Brian nods his acknowledgment and waits as Neil crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his armpits, looking like he’s seriously considering the implications of his response.

 

“Well it depends.”

 

Brian rolls his eyes.

 

“On what?”

 

“Who the record is for. And what purpose you are trying to serve.”

 

He wants to flick Neil on his forehead for playing dumb. In a moment of weakness, he’d told Neil of his strange developing crush on a guy who is painfully lovesick over someone else. Neil was straightforward enough with his advice – to stay as far away as possible from Sonny Kiriakis, since Will is the kind of impulsive maniac who most likely had access to a slew of hit men should he want to protect his territory. He didn’t like how Neil had put it like that; Sonny is single doesn’t belong to anyone, least of all someone like Will who can be _such_ a brat at times. But even Brian cannot deny the powerful connections Will has from working with someone as shady as the 10-foot Dimera.

 

He tries his best to kill Neil with a glare as Neil blinks at him; the innocent lamb he is (not). Will has lost interest in the conversation and is busy typing on his phone.

 

“It’s a gift for a _friend_.”

 

“Oh. Then it depends on _which_ friend this is. Is this for an old friend you haven’t seen for a while? A good college friend who shared notes with you when you’ve missed class? Or a new friend you’ve made that you hope to be more-than-friends with?”

 

He tries harder to annihilate Neil with a cutting look but, unfortunately, fails. Will is still busy reading something off his phone. He suddenly feels tired of beating around the damn bush.

 

“He’s a new friend. Okay fine, I’m interested in him.”

 

He sees Neil’s eyes widen. He feels almost proud of his vague admission. This quickly turns to regret when he realizes that Neil’s going for the kill.

 

“Wow, this is news. Have we met him?”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“I’m sure we have. I bet I can guess.”

 

His eyes flash at Neil who is still playing dumb so well, it _must_ be second nature to him.

 

“I bet you can’t.”

 

He hopes Neil can hear the warning in his tone. He’s not afraid of Will and his law-breaking contacts, but even _he_ feels like he’s stepping over protected territory.

 

Neil rattles on, loose cannon on a mission.

 

“Oh I am pretty sure I _can_ guess. Let’s see.  Is he that brunette from the club last Friday? You went home with him, right?”

 

“Yes I went home with him, but no.”

 

“The brown-eyed hottie from two weeks ago?”

 

He groans inwardly, the urge to smack Neil is overwhelming.

 

“No.”

 

“Wait, the dark-haired, olive-skinned Greek guy from the coffee house?”

 

He stares at Neil in blatant surprise. He’s never, never, _never_ sharing any drunken secrets with that angel-faced bastard ever again.

 

_Never_.

 

He spares a quick glance at Will who, though may seem to be engrossed in his phone, has now moved closer to them, listening in to the exchange.

 

He puts _Some Nights_ away and pretends to study the cover art on _Torches_.

 

“Thanks Will, I think I’ll go with your choice. Thanks Neil, as always, for nothing.”

 

Neil grins wolfishly, baring white teeth at him.

 

“Anytime, man.”

 

As he makes payment at the cashier, he tries to ignore Will’s thoughtful gaze at him. When they step out of the store, Will sticks his hands inside his jacket pockets, strangely subdued. Neil starts yapping about the guy he met at the club last week who’d refused to let him hold his hand in public when they dated. He purposely engages Neil in the chatter, finding the suddenly-glum Will slightly disturbing.

 

When they finally part company, he doesn’t miss the cold blue of Will’s look.

 

He knows Will knows _now_ , but as far as he’s concerned, it’s anyone’s game. Will is free to think what he wants, and so is Neil. It doesn’t mean he has to bow and bend to Will’s childish level.

 

He runs his thumb over the sharp edge of the CD cover and smiles to himself.

 

…

 

“Come on, don’t pretend like you don’t need this. I’m tired of the crap music you play here.”

 

“Josh Groban _isn’t_ crap! And I saw you singing along to John Mayer the other day, so shut up.”

 

“No I wasn’t. Don’t make up stories, Kiriakis.”

 

It is past 10 pm, and the customers have all left the coffee house. He’d turned up at the right time tonight; no one else was around to close up, just Sonny. He hadn’t any idea how to gift Sonny a CD out of the blue but he found a reason good enough to make up for the clear tension between them.  He’s leaning with his arms crossed, on the counter, watching Sonny intently.

 

He couldn’t help himself; Sonny’s eyes light up like wildfire when he laughs.

 

“You definitely were! It’s that song…Your body is a wonderland!”

 

“Well, so I’ve heard. And thank you, by the way. I always knew you felt that way.”

 

He watches Sonny roll his eyes as he finally takes the CD to look at, resting his forearms on the counter, and they’re so close that he can smell the scent of Sonny’s cologne. Something registers on Sonny’s face and he’s momentarily mesmerized by the sudden fondness in Sonny’s eyes.

 

“Foster the People? Will loves this band.”

 

He feels his speeding heartbeat crash to a halt.

 

Of course.

 

_Will_.

 

He feigns ignorance.

 

“Really? I didn’t know.”

 

His stomach bundles into a happy ball of nerves when Sonny lifts his eyes and gives him a genuine smile.

 

“Fine, I’ll update my music. Only if you let me get you a latte on the house.”

 

He rolls his eyes, in mock annoyance.

 

“Not that diluted stuff you serve here, man. Surely you can do better than that.”

 

Sonny actually looks affronted by his words, and he almost wants to kick himself for ruining the moment. Fortunately, the injury is quickly recovered with a smirk that shouldn’t make his knees weak (but it does).

 

“Alright, alright. A movie on me, okay? Next week?”

 

It’s hard to describe the feeling of _surprise-hope-desire-want_ burning in the pit of his stomach.

 

He nods wordlessly, and he must have been biting his lip because Sonny looks away, flushed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he moves to put distance between them.

 

He’s not going to push it. The last thing he wants is Sonny changing his mind.

 

He says goodnight the most formidable way he knows how and forces himself not to skip all the way home.

 

…

 

The funny thing about hope is that it makes disappointment cut deeper.

 

He finds Sonny at the entrance of the cinema with Will by his side, both them of radiant as they joke about something. His windpipe grows tight for a second and he considers leaving the cinema before being seen, but the fighting part of him tells him not to wimp out and to take his chances where he can.

 

If he was never certain before, it becomes clear then that Will wants him to understand _explicitly_ that Sonny is not available for his wooing.

 

He didn’t think it was necessary for Will to have his arm around Sonny _all_ the damn time, but even he cannot deny the way Sonny’s face brightens up at the touch.

 

He never remembered a time when  he feels more like a third wheel than in that moment – it would help if he knew half of the twenty-something number of inside jokes Will keeps talking to Sonny about, but he probably deserves it for not taking flight earlier.

 

When Will seats himself in the middle before the film started rolling, separating him from Sonny, he wanted to tap Will’s shoulder and tell him he can stop with the hints, because he gets it, okay?

 

He _always_ gets it.

 

The film couldn’t have ended quickly enough.

 

…

 

The following week, he decides to stop pretending like it’s not shriveling him inside. Will is all-out avoiding him and Neil is making him feel like he’s doing something really horrible to the infantile Horton.  Besides, it doesn’t make sense to him that he’s walking on eggshells around the entire situation. He’s not that kind of guy, he’s not usually cautious and wary, and he doesn’t like the way he’s become.

 

Sonny rubs him in _all_ the right ways, but he’s not going to pine for the guy any longer, no matter how pretty those eyes are (or how perfect that ass is).

 

When he finally makes it clear that he’s interested in Sonny, his heart jumping to his mouth, Sonny looks _appreciative_.

 

Thoroughly underwhelmed, he swallows the bitterness that hits the back of his throat.

 

_Fuck his appreciation_ , he thinks to himself.

 

He doesn’t stop trying though, because he’s clearly a masochist for gorgeous guys who want nothing to do with him.

 

He meets Sonny’s mom, and her adoration of him is just as distinct as his attraction to her blushing son.

 

Not that it does him any favours.

 

Things come to an embarrassing halt – he is after all only human with _some_ sense of dignity – when Sonny rejects him for the _n_ th time.

 

He vows to himself that he’s done. He leaves the concert tickets he bought off Neil for an exorbitant price in Sonny’s hands and walks away. He heads down to The Spot out of habit and doesn’t regret the one night stand he finds to soothe the surface of his aching heart.

 

…

 

He hears from Neil that Will and Sonny hooked up. He buys Neil a beer and they sit in a booth at the pub, both a little wistful for separate reasons.

 

He may have lost his chance with Sonny, but Will and Neil used to be close, up till Will started pulling away and they both knew that the friend they had in Will is gone. Neil was Will’s first gay kiss, and while nothing romantic came to fruition from there, it was the beginning of a friendship.

 

He said goodnight to Neil with a hug.

 

…

 

He starts returning his focus to his books and avoids the club scene as much as he could. He meets up with Neil away from the places he knows Will and Sonny are prone to hang out, and makes new friends who are entirely outside of the Horton and Kiriakis clans. He soon forgets the way Sonny sounds when he laughs, the taste of the coffee Sonny makes (with the right amounts of bitter and cream), the smell of Sonny’s cologne; he forgets the way Sonny makes him feel.

 

Or at least, that’s what he _thought_.

 

…

 

He receives a call from Neil one night.

 

“Brian, oh my God, dude. Did you hear?”

 

He scribbles something quickly onto his notes, mind still focused on his assignment.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not going to _believe_ this. Will got Gabi fucking _pregnant_.”

 

His pen makes an unintelligible mark on his paper. He curses under his breath.

 

“ _Fuck_. His ex-girlfriend, Gabi? Are you serious? None of this makes sense, Neil.”

 

Neil’s a good friend but, sometimes, the guy can jump to conclusions faster than the speed of light.

 

“I’m serious, man. _Everyone’s_ talking about it. You have to trust me on this one.”

 

He couldn’t help himself from thinking about the damage caused. He surprises himself with his next question.

 

“How’s Sonny doing?”

 

He hears Neil pause in surprise, and he mentally headdesks himself.

 

“Brian, you’re not thinking of coming in between them now, are you?”

 

He sighs, feeling stupid and small and horrid.

 

“No, of course not. I just couldn’t help but wonder if Sonny’s okay. I swear, nothing more.”

 

Neil doesn’t sound convinced but _he_ knows _himself_.

 

He’s been rejected enough times by Sonny to want to go through another trainwreck again.

 

…

 

It’s been a week since Neil called.

 

He really didn’t want to do it, but it happened anyway.

 

_I heard the news. Hope you’re alright. Take care, Sonny._

 

He sends the message and finds himself hoping for no reply, and a reply at the same time.

 

He doesn’t get a response until two days later.

 

_Can I see you?_

He feels a mix of both shame and desire pooling in his chest.

 

_Of course._

…

He finds Sonny at his doorstep an hour later, heartbreak in his eyes and hair limp from the damp night. He’s not quite sure what to make of the visit – he had been pacing his room for the past half an hour waiting for a reply and contemplating going down to Sonny’s apartment – so he simply steps aside to let Sonny in.

 

Memory is a funny thing; he cannot remember ever seeing Sonny look so small and withered. Sonny was always a strong, confident figure in his mind. The man standing before him looks starved and faded, hands pushed deep into his pants pockets, eyes downcast and mouth trembling.

 

Something fiery and protective burns inside him; Sonny didn’t deserve this. Without thinking about it, he envelopes Sonny in a quiet embrace, meeting no resistance. He doesn’t know what to say, except apologize.

 

“I’m sorry, Sonny.”

Shivering arms wrap around his back, a cold cheek pressed against his chest. He hears Sonny mumble.

 

“Can you take care of me tonight?”

 

He has never said yes to anything so quickly before.

 

…

 

He knows he’s going to wake up alone tomorrow. He knows that Sonny’s here because he’s broken and needs mending in a way that _he_ can never help with. He knows that tonight is just sex, and nothing more.

 

But to him, right there, was someone pleading for love, someone on the brink of destruction, someone who deserves to be cared for, and he is willing to do all he can, even at his own expense.

 

…

 

He’s never been this disoriented during sex.

 

The usual steps he takes have all changed; Sonny may be vulnerable and shattered, but _he’s_ the one taking the reins tonight. Their first kiss was like testing waters that only served to unleash his pent-up desperation and lust, and by the looks and sounds of it, the same effect has washed over Sonny.

 

Sonny’s mouth is a warm and wet cave he is lost in; he vaguely comprehends the determined hands undressing him, insistent fingers digging into his hips, pulling him painfully close, bodies drunk from the delicious grinding between them, air heavy with fire. He recovers some clarity and pushes Sonny back against the wall, roughly stripping him of his hoodie and tank top, groaning at the feel of Sonny’s skin against his palms. He mouths at Sonny’s jaw, licks the inviting skin of his throat, and sucks on the willing flesh, resolute in leaving his mark behind. His hand slips down, between Sonny’s thighs, and he presses his forehead against Sonny’s, watching Sonny’s eyes roll back, lips apart as he gasps.

 

Sonny presses into his hand, hard, and something inside him snaps when he hears Sonny moan his name.

 

Buttons snap open, zips slide down quickly – purposefully – and he’s relieved and aroused all at the same time, nothing but skin and bones, love-starved and intoxicated, under the influence of one Sonny Kiriakis.

 

He wants to take Sonny like this, to fuck him with the gravity of the world against them, wants to feel Sonny’s fingernails claw into back; he wants every inch of his body to hurt, so he’ll never forget this night.

 

His hands slip down Sonny’s back and haul him up, Sonny’s legs automatically wrapping around his waist as though they shared one mind, arms looped around his neck, a broken cry falling past Sonny’s bruised lips. He feels himself slide against Sonny, hard and slick, the urge to be inside Sonny distorting rationality, but not enough, not like this, he _can’t_.

 

He kisses Sonny again, mouths open and wet, still holding him up, body still pressed against Sonny’s heat.

 

He must have hesitated, because Sonny’s kissing him back harder, saying words he never thought he’d hear.

 

“Fuck me, Brian.”

 

He doesn’t know where he finds the strength to respond, but he does somehow.

 

“ _God_ , I want to. But not like this, Sonny.”

 

He means it one way, but Sonny misunderstands.

 

“On the bed. Please. I need this. I need _you_.”

 

He hears a growl escape his throat, as all rational thought dissolves in a flash. _He_ needs this.

 

With Sonny still in his arms, he brings him to his bed, lips busy marking Sonny’s collarbone as he does so, laying him down, never letting go, lube and a condom in the beside drawer serving their purpose as he pins Sonny’s wrists above his head with one hand, his other hand holding Sonny’s leg up as he slides in slow, then fast, and deep, over and over, Sonny’s voice echoing loud in his head, his name repeated time and again, the heady scent of sex overwhelming him, beads of perspiration forming and falling as he fucks Sonny in his bed, watching the brown eyes look back at him, wide open surrender, never breaking the gaze until the very end, and he misses him _already_ , misses Sonny even before he leaves his bed.

 

Sonny arches his neck, eyes fluttering shut, as he orgasms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and Brian lets himself go, the months of waiting and hoping and longing finally, _finally_ colliding together into one tragically beautiful moment.

 

He falls headlong into slumber soon after, the fire dying inside of him, and the last thing he remembers is Sonny’s hand carding through his hair.

 

…

 

He wakes up, alone and emptier than he was before Sonny came by hours ago.

 

He half expected a note with Sonny’s endearing scrawl, left behind strategically for him to read, but all he sees is _Torches_ on the table by his bed.

 

He stares at the meaningless shadow on his ceiling, the rush of cold seeping in; uninvited.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
